The Eyes That See
by Rev Raptor MK II
Summary: Upon his deathbed, Thèodred son of Thèoden made a horrible choice and did the unexpected. Now, as his own cousin lay dying, he must make a choice to live in his cousin's wake...or to die as he was.


**Title: **The Eyes That See

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary: **Upon his deathbed, Thèodred son of Thèoden made a horrible choice and did the unexpected. No, as his own cousin lay dying, he must make a choice to live in his cousin's wake...or to die as he was.****

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**[-The eyes that see, yet cannot be seen. The mouth that speaks, but is never heard. The hands that touch, yet cannot feel. The tears that fall, but make no difference. The harsh, angry words exchanged, yet ease no pain.-]**

As Thèodred lay on his deathbed, sword wound throbbing, he was vaguely aware of a human presence. He could not move for he was afraid of bringing the stinging pain back full force. His head ached, and he did not know why. Hell, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. The only thing Thèodred was aware of, was the warm hand on his arm (was it his arm? He wasn't so sure), and the soft voice somewhere above him. 

He wanted to reach for it; stretch his hand up as far as it could reach and caress the face that spoke such words to him. But it seemed like his arm was only three inches to those miles that were between him and the voice. Oh, how he wanted to touch something solid.

Biting back immeasurable pain, Thèodred was able to move his head slightly to the left and crack open his eyes just a bit.

His vision was blurry at first, but it gradually focused until he was looking at the room in the wide screen edition. Someone had their head resting on the edge of his bed, and from the sound of it, they were asleep. Blonde hair was matted  down and strewn across the bed.

Thèodred's hand seemed to creep over to the figure of it's own accord. It just barely caught the edge of the hair. The blonde strands were rough and tangled together. 

'Too coarse...can't...Èowyn...Èomer?'

He couldn't get a good view of the face, but he was almost positive it was one of his cousins, even though his brain couldn't register it.

Then, the person began to stir as if Thèodred had shaken them. The face of Èomer stared at him owlishly. Then he seemed to realize whom he was staring at.

"Cousin!" he exclaimed joyfully, taking Thèodred's hand in his own. Èomer put on of his hands on his cousin's brow, feeling for fever. There was none. Then he checked the wound.

The sword wound was no longer bleeding, but it was surrounded by dry, caked blood and dirt. If it wasn't so deep, it looked as if it might heal.

Furrowing his brow, the blonde Rohirrim peered anxiously into his cousin's eyes. He was searching...searching...searching for something...but what? Pursing his lips, Èomer gazed sadly at his favorite cousin.

"You will not make it though the night, Thèodred." he stated. Thèodred did nothing--he could do nothing. The wide screen view of the room was giving away to the sonar view of the room.

His head swirled and clouded. Deep, hot shots of pain were felt every time he tried to breathe. The wound might've been--probably was-- dipped in poison. He could no longer distinguish sight, sound, or feeling. He felt the wound go numb and he knew he was dying.

He gave Èomer's hand and small tug, barely felt by the other man. He was fading fast. He barely had the strength to breathe; but there was something he had to say...something he had to make known.

Taking careful breaths that would last him, Thèodred opened his mouth to speak. Èomer leaned down to listen.

"I have not yet begun to fight!" he croaked harshly, grabbing Èomer by the top of his head and brining his lips to meet his own. The contact was brief, but in those seconds, a drastic change took place. 

Something stirred in the pit of Èomer's stomach. It gradually grew harsher until it pulled up and out of his mouth into Thèodred's. Likewise, something passed through the Rohirrim's mouth, down his throat and settled in his stomach. Then, all was still.

Èomer stood up straight, ignoring the whimpering mass below him. He raised his hands and looked at them in wonder, turning them over in the scant light as if he had never seen them before. Then his hands went to the armor on his stomach, pulling it apart in one fluid motion. The skin was whole. He looked at Thèodred and  grinned maliciously. 

"Thank you for the body, cousin," he whispered, still grinning. "I shall use it well." He about faced and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The first thing the real Èomer felt when he opened his eyes was a stinging pain in his gut. It wasn't too much, but it still hurt. He found he was also on his back, soaking wet. This wasn't right...this wasn't right at all. Why had he --that is to say his body-- walked away? Why was he on his back in the bed when...Thèodred was...why...oh, God! 

"This is just a dream...this isn't real...you'll wake up in your own body, Èomer old boy..." he shut his eyes and opened them again. Nothing had changed. "Oh, shit..."


End file.
